


Scarborough

by Tomboy13



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F, Mostly Shameless Fluff, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-26 15:05:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19770727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomboy13/pseuds/Tomboy13
Summary: Anne takes her wife to Scarborough, but unpleasant memories of the events of her last visit haunt the present.Total AU, but I’ve wanted to correct the damage Mariana did during their 1823 visit to Scarborough for years so I’ve taken my chance. No shame here.





	1. Chapter 1

The silence had started around the time they left York, heading North East, the noises of the carriage as it bumped over the rutted main road out of the city the only sound inside the familiar, worn interior of the Lister’s tallow coloured coach.

It was a loud, thick silence to Ann’s sensitive ear, filling up every corner of the space, and one that seemed to stew and bubble around her wife in a way she wasn’t used to. It was unusual to have the women sit mutely for any amount of time when they were alone together, and as such it was deeply troubling for the youngest Walker.

Wracking her brains as to what she might have done to upset the older woman since they rose that morning in Goodramgate, ready for the next stage of their trip, Ann came up blank. They’d woken early, as Anne preferred, and made leisurely love before the rest of the house was awake, as Ann preferred. Their breakfast had been hurried, both women keen to get on the road to Scarborough as soon as possible, but they’d eaten well so she doubted that hunger was the cause of the Lister’s troublesome mood.

“Look, Anne.” She said enthusiastically, pointing out of the window as the moors opened up very prettily before them, the sun dappling the green and browns of the rugged scenery like an oil painting. “Anne, look.”

Slowly, Anne raised her head, her eyes appearing listless and furtive. “Mmm?” She said absently.

“T-The view. I wanted to show you the view. It’s pretty.” The younger woman managed, her confidence faltering in the face of her wife’s stare.

“Pretty?” Anne said darkly. “Yes, I suppose it is.” And then, quite by itself, the impenetrable silence enveloped then again.

After that, Ann kept quiet, allowing the rocking of the carriage to lull her eventually into an uncomfortable and fitful doze. Whenever she was jolted awake by a particularity harsh jump of the wheels, or, on one occasion, the coachman shouting something bawdy at a passerby, Ann would watch her wife carefully, seeing the brooding expression linger on the stern face as the Lister stared out of the window, chewing a thumbnail. Ann longed to ask what she was pondering on, but couldn’t quite find the words. She wasn’t used to this - to these long and difficult silences from the indomitable Anne Lister Of Shibden Hall, a woman renowned, amongst other things, for her preference to face problems head on. 

They’d been married for a full year, and she knew by rote now how Anne would handle her own poor moods. Could almost feel the gentle hand on her cheek as the masculine woman coaxed her out of any dour fit she might be in with kind words and borderline-frustrated supplications. Gentleness and firmness and a touch of forcefulness - those were the tickets that Anne used to coax her fragile, dainty wife out of her frequent miseries and into the world. 

Ann couldn’t do that. She didn’t have the knack or the experience, and found herself suddenly terrified to try in case she made matters worse. Instead, she dithered and hesitated, and worried herself back to sleep.

The fourth time she awoke with a start, the sky outside was darkening and they were trotting past houses with their lamps lit. Anne’s face in the gloom was unreadable.

“Where are we?” Ann asked, carefully, her voice hoarse with sleep.

“Nearly there.” The older woman answered in a neutral voice. “Belvoir Terrace is just around the corner.”

Despite herself, Ann rushed to press her face to the small window in the door of the carriage, trying to see the road ahead around the side of the vehicle itself. 

“What on earth are you doing, love?” Anne asked with a chuckle.

“I want to see the sea.” The heiress answered, her voice muffled against the glass. After a moment, she sighed, slumping back into the chair. “It’s too dark.”

“Don’t sulk.” Anne chided fondly, leaning forward in her seat to gently chuck her wife under the chin. “We shall see the sea all week. We’ll take a stroll out first thing, before breakfast, if it bothers you so.”

Ann brightened, although whether at the show of affection or the promise she wasn’t sure.

The carriage slowed, and Anne pushed the door open, leaping out before the wheels had fully stopped. She held her slender hand out to her wife, helping the blonde descend to pavement level. Turning as one, they were confronted by the sandstone facade of the still-new Belvoir Terrace, where Anne had engaged rooms for them for the week. The yellow-orange stone practically glowed in the lamplight, giving the air of a fairytale to the scene.

“It’s perfect, Anne.” The younger woman sighed, staring up at the warmly lit windows, as a doorman rushed out to help Thomas Beech with the bags.

“Of course it is, I arranged it.” Anne grinned, before turning to bark at her chamber maid, “Eugenie, help Thomas with those bags.”

Inside, they were greeted by a smallish woman with steel grey hair in a tight bun and a clean yet old-fashioned black dress, who introduced herself as Mrs Simms, landlady of the house. As they were ushered through the lavish, dark wood interior of the hallway and up the sweeping staircase with its ruby red carpet, Ann managed to catch a glimpse of a spacious living room, with several settees and singular chairs, and at least one cards table that was already filled by a party of six playing some game or other. From behind a closed door on the opposite wall came the sound of cutlery being set and servants bantering with each other. The smell of cooking food was wafting from somewhere, and Ann’s stomach growled. As they ascended the steps behind Mrs Simms, two women in expensive, pastel dresses, with their hair curled into elaborate up-dos were loitering on the first floor landing. As the trio passed, Anne greeted them with a pleasant nod of the head; the women smiled in what Ann, if she were being unkind, would class as a slightly simpering fashion. As soon as Mrs Simms and the elder Lister sister has begun to ascend however, Ann, dawdling slightly back as she took in the sights and sounds of their home for the week, was alarmed to see the women snicker, pulling a face at the retreating back of the other women. 

This was nothing new. While Ann herself had never been able to see Anne Lister’s strikingly masculine appearance as anything other than utterly wonderfully mesmerising, even in the darkest of days when the mania would turn her lungs into knotted cords and make her hands shake, she was well used to seeing the sour expressions and hearing the callous wittering of local busybodies who couldn’t see beyond Anne’s rather manly-looking pelisse and topper, or her determined stride. It infuriated Ann more than any slight towards her own personage would, but for her wife’s sake, she always reigned in the cutting words that it brought to her tongue. Indeed, she was getting quite adept at pretending she hadn’t seen or heard the barbs, at least in her lover’s presence.

That didn’t mean she wouldn’t allow herself a bit of relief now though. Putting on her best scowl, Ann tried to flounce across the landing in a display of disdain but caught her foot on the top step and almost fell. Almost instantly, her wife was at her side, strong arms bracketing her smaller frame. 

“Are you quite alright?” She asked in a whisper, concern on her face. Behind her, Ann heard the well dressed ladies laughing.

Ann nodded with a small smile, and allowed herself to be led onwards towards he concerned expression of Mrs Simms. When she glanced back, the giggling pair had bustled away into one of the rooms that opened onto that floor.

Their rooms turned out to be on the third floor of the four-storey house; two large bedrooms with tall windows led onto a cosy private living room, with table and high-backed chairs, a writing bureau, and a comfortable-looking sofa in plush bottle green leather.

After what felt like an age exchanging pleasantries with Mrs Simms, the old woman finally swept out, giving them instructions to be down for dinner in half an hour. No sooner had the door closed than Ann, overcome with joy, threw herself bodily into her wife’s arms, pressing hot, wet kisses to her mouth.

“Well I’m not sure what that was in aid of but I definitely approve!” The Lister chuckled breathlessly when they finally broke apart. 

“I’m just happy to be here with you, just the two of us.” Ann beamed. “Well, until Catherine arrives on Thursday.”

There was a moment of hesitation, Anne’s face darkening slightly before she smiled, bringing her lover’s delicate hand to her mouth and pressing a kiss to the palm. “Me too, my love. Now, let me go and find where on Earth those two have wandered off to with our bags, and we can get changed for supper. I’m sure you’re famished!” Anne called over her shoulder as she strode out, closing the door with a resounding click.

Breathing in one large contented lungful of Scarborough air, Ann turned back towards the living room, catching her eye in the looking glass above the small wrought iron fireplace. Now they had arrived and Anne’s mood seemed to have lifted, she felt light, and content, and any thought of gossips with unkind eyes and malicious sneers vanished from her mind.

———————-————————————

Dinner was simple but delicious: fresh white fish that their table mates, a Mr and Mrs Lucas from Birmingham, explained was fresh caught in the bay each morning, with new boiled potatoes and carrots, and some delicious greens that were spiced with something that to Ann’s unadventurous palate tasted frankly exotic. The evening was, a slightly tipsy Ann thought, the most pleasant she had ever spent. They had indulged in a glass of sweet capillaire liquor as a before dinner treat, and she was already on her second glass of the smooth claret that had been served with the food. She could feel Anne’s eyes on her as her cheeks turned rosy, could picture without turning her head the mildly disapproving raised eyebrow tinged with amusement.

“So, Miss Lister, how long are you in Scarborough for?” Mr Lucas asked in the broad Birmingham accent that Ann had at once taking a liking to.

“Just a week I’m afraid.” Anne answered, leaning back in her chair, one long leg crossing over the other. “My friend Miss Walker mentioned that she would like to visit, to re-discover some of her fond childhood memories, but I’m afraid that we couldn’t spare longer.”

Mrs Lucas leaned across the table and whispered conspiratorially, “we usually go to Western-Super-Mare for the season, but we’ve heard that the waters here are so good for what might ail one.”

Ann nodded enthusiastically, noticing at the close proximity the bronze of the wine on Mrs Lucas’s own cheeks. “Miss Lister is going to take me sea bathing.”

“Splendid! We intend to partake too. We don’t get much chance in Weston, of course, on account of the geography.” Mr Lucas said sagely.

“Oh?” Anne asked, interest blossoming on her face.

“The tides, Miss Lister, of that particular region...”

Ann tuned the rest of the conversation out, allowing her eyes to drift around the room that was filled with people and the clattering of cutlery on crock. The room was pleasantly light, the tables decked out in white table cloths and the walls papered in a luxurious looking turquoise, embossed with small pinkish flowers. The house Mrs Simms kept was, Ann thought, rather special.

As her blue eyes swept back towards her own table, she saw several faces turned in their direction, and her heart stopped. Some were looking surreptitiously; some outright staring. But all were focused on the now intense conversation taking place between Anne Lister and Mr Lucas. Ann could guess what they were gossiping about, and suddenly the evening didn’t feel so pleasant.

“You mustn’t pay any attention, dear.” Mrs Lucas said quietly, her eyes intent on Ann. Glancing over, the heiress was relieved to see that the conversation between their spouses meant neither had heard. “Just a group of idle chatterboxes, you get them at all these seaside places. Michael and I, well, I hope you know we won’t listen to a word of it.”

“And what...w-what are they saying?” Ann asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.

Mrs Lucas allowed her eyes to flick to where her husband was using the cutlery to demonstrate something complicated to do with gun making, of which he had some industrial knowledge. Ann let her eyes linger on her wife. The collier’s eyes were lit up with the enthusiasm she only got from learning or love, and she was gesturing animatedly to emphasise some technical point or other; in her breast, Ann felt the familiar swell of pride that this woman was hers, that this woman had chosen her above all others to build a life with.

Mrs Lucas cleared her throat, dragging Ann rudely away from her dreaming. “Your friend is a rather peculiar specimen, both in appearance and might I say, in mannerisms as well, which I myself applaud. Unfortunately, not everyone here is as broad minded as myself.”

“She isn’t peculiar. She’s exactly as god made her.” Ann answered sharply, instantly regretting when the words came out louder than intended and caused the rest of the table to look up inquisitively.

“Oh my dear, I don’t doubt it.” Mrs Lucas placed a soothing hand over Ann’s where it rested on the tablecloth. “And if anyone tries to draw me into any needless gossiping, I shall tell them exactly that.” She said with a squeeze.

“Everything alright, Ann?” The Lister asked.

“I...I’m not feeling well. I’d like to go upstairs.” Ann said, rising to her feet. Mr Lucas leapt up at the same time as Anne, the latter hurrying to her companions side. 

“Oh dear, perhaps one too many glasses of refreshment. Thank you for such a pleasant evening, Mr Lucas, Mrs Lucas.”

“And to you, Miss Lister! I shall endeavour to find those pamphlets on the use of steam in Cornish Mine Engines for tomorrow evening, if you would be so kind as to join us again. I hope you feel better after some rest, Miss Walker.” Mr Lucas said in his booming voice.

Mrs Lucas, still holding Ann’s hand, gave it another squeeze, her face showing every sign of remorse for her loose lips. “Yes, you must join us for dinner tomorrow - maybe we can take on the air together afterwards, it’s so pleasant here in the afternoons.”

Barely able to answer, Ann turned on her heal and sloped from the room, feeling at every step her wife’s hand placed lovingly in the small of her back. Overlaying everything like a burning desert heat, she could sense the eyes watching them leave.

———————————————————————

The door to their apartments closed with a click moments after Anne had ushered out a startled Eugenie. The air felt heavy between them, Anne at the door and the other Ann, still slightly shaking from the turn of events, standing by the fireplace. She thought about how happy she had felt in this very spot mere hours earlier, and wanted to cry.

“What happened, Ann?” 

The blonde looked at her lover, at those handsome, chiselled features that always so captivated her right from when she was just a girl, and which were now caught up in a frown.

“Nothing. I just...didn’t want to sit with them anymore.” Ann said, wringing her fingers together. 

“With the Lucas’s?”

“With everyone.” Ann looked at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

Anne sighed, rubbing a hand to her forehead in an old-learned habit that was as familiar to both women now as the changing of the seasons. 

“I understand.” She said at last.

Ann furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

Anne bit her top lip a moment, before continuing. “I don’t think I’ve ever brought it up, but the last time I was in Scarborough, in ‘22, or maybe ‘23...it wasn’t a pleasant experience. I was viewed rather dimly by the other patrons, both in the lodging and on the scene.”

“Why?” Ann asked, genuinely puzzled for a moment.

Anne snorted, waving her hands the length of her torso. “Because of this.”

“Oh.” Ann answered, her eyes drifting once more to the slightly worn carpet.

“Yes, ‘oh’ indeed. I imagine the same scenes are playing out now, is that it?”

Sucking her bottom lip into her mouth, Ann nodded mutely. Across from her, the older woman moved quickly to the sofa, and slumped down, head held in her hands. “I can’t believe this is happening again.”

Gingerly, Ann crossed the room and pooled herself onto the floor at her spouse’s feet, both hands resting on one of those strong thighs that she so enjoyed. “I’m sorry.”

Anne looked up, surprised, a glint of moisture in her deep brown eyes. “Why are you sorry?”

“I’ve made a scene, and now you’re cross. I just...I was so _angry_ , those horrible, silly people all judging when not one of them could hold a candle to you. I mean, Mr Lucas seems nice, and I think his wife might be quite pleasant if she hadn’t been drinking, but the others. I was shaking with how annoyed I was, and I thought if we didn’t leave then I might just, ooo, just tell them all _exactly_ what I think of them. Tell them how wonderful you are and how proud I am of you, and how small-minded they are for not seeing it. And I know you wouldn’t have liked that. But now I’ve made a scene in spite of myself,” Ann finished forlornly, “and made you cross anyway.”

“You...you think _you’ve_ made _me_ cross?” Anne asked, looking confused.

“I...well, yes, haven’t I?”

“No, good lord, Ann, no! I thought...” Anne dropped quickly to her knees, taking both of Ann’s smaller hands in her own. She took a deep breath. “When I was here before, all those years ago, my companion, she was rather embarrassed by me. Actually, that’s not true. She was _ashamed_ of me, could hardly stand to be seen with me because of how the society hereabouts reacted to me. When you said you wanted to come here for a time I couldn’t bear it, almost said no, but I desperately wanted to bring you because you were so excited, especially when you mentioned it to Catherine and began talking of all the things you remembered doing as girls. But I was so worried this morning, on the way, that history would repeat itself. I thought it had, a moment ago.”

The Walker pulled one hand free to press softly to her wife’s cheek, directing the woman’s eyes to her own piercing gaze. “You listen to me, Anne Lister. I could never be ashamed of you. I love you. I’m in love with you. All the things inside of you, and all the things on the outside.”

Anne sniffed, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. Ann enjoyed sometimes, in a mild streak of selfishness, that her wife allowed herself to be vulnerable, to cry, only with her, and even now it made her heart bloom with tenderness.

“All of it? That’s rather bold, love.” She said, pulling her wife bodily into her lap, and eliciting a small shriek from the younger woman as she did so.

“Well, I am bold, when it comes to you.” Ann quipped, kissing the furrowed brow in front of her.

They stayed on the floor, embracing, until Anne complained that her legs had gone numb. “Do you want to go back down, face the music?”

Ann put a theatrical finger on her chin, and pretended to contemplate for a moment. 

“I think I want you to take me to bed. We can face the mob tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any anachronisms and anticipated grammatical errors, I apologise.


	2. Chapter 2

Anne Lister awoke to the sound of seagulls and a feeling of nervous discomfort. It took less than a second to realise the root cause of this was the small body at her back, pressed in close and clinging tightly around her midriff. As frequently happened, her bedmate must have shuffled across the mattress while caught up in sleep, forcing Anne herself to navigate perilously close to the edge of the bed. She had apparently also been entirely stripped of sheets or any other coverings, leaving her chilled and at real risk of tumbling to the floor and cracking her skull. Taking great care not to unbalance herself or disturb the sleeping woman at her back, the Lister reached for her silver pocket watch on the bedside cabinet, where she had left it the night before. The hands read 7:35.

Placing the watch back as quietly as she was able, Anne turned, gripping her wife’s arms for ballast, and gently eased them back towards the middle of the bed. Ann grumbled slightly, but settled as soon as she felt strong arms wrapping around her, holding her tightly to a familiar chest. They were both naked as the day, having been so worn out from the journey and the melodramatics after dinner that neither could find the will to sort through the various cupboards and wardrobes to find where Eugenie had stashed their night things.

Anne sighed, blinking in the sunlight. Late mornings and indecorum; how much had life changed since she was here last?

_I’m in love with you. All the things inside of you, and all the things on the outside._

How those words had shook and trembled her; the power of will it took to hold her face still and not let the shock and awe that that sentiment sparked in her heart flood her features. 

Closing her eyes, Anne could still picture a very different scene; could see as clearly as if she were there how Mariana’s expression had twisted in embarrassment, as they stood face to face in a room very similar to this one, less than a mile from where her new love was right this second snoring softly into the crook of Anne’s neck.

 _Would you have me changed, Mariana? Would you have me changed?_ she had demanded, feeling the rock of her certainties disintegrating under her feet. _Yes, Freddie, I would! I’d give you a more feminine figure! It makes me uncomfortable, Fred, when they stare at you. When they stare at us._

Anne had been 32, and had wished a thousand times or more in the years since that she had never gone on that damned trip, that Mariana had voyaged alone with her sisters and left Anne at Shibden, stewing in jealousy. But they had gone, and the harsh words that had been spoken had pooled between them, pushing them apart and driving Anne a little lower in the water, until she’d had to adapt just to survive. It was then that she’d started trying to blend in a little better; started wearing more obviously feminine clothes and dressing her hair more as a lady might rather than tying it at the nape of her neck like an old-fashioned Jack-the-Lad. It had taken time to find the comfortable moderation in between, a place where she could see enough of herself in her reflection to not feel a sham, and, at once, not look too much like herself that she couldn’t fit more readily in.

Even now, tucked in the bottom of her travelling trunk were the lace cravat covers, the tall brimmed hat to replace her habitual topper, and the velveteen spencer she could choose over her usual cloth pelisse, to try and hide a little easier in plain sight if Ann demanded it. 

But Ann never had. Even in those hard times when the black dog would send her into a flurry of miseries, and make her question their very connection and the sanctity of their mortal souls in the most unkind language, she had never once taken umbrage with her lover’s striking figure or brusque mannerisms, nor with the force of her person that was so unlike the dainty ladies society held up as the very image of womanhood. For little Miss Walker, it was as if she loved her wife not in spite of her singularity, but almost because of it.

“Mmm.” Anne said aloud, shaking her head gently to clear those thoughts. 

“Go back to sleep, Anne.” The small blonde head nestled into her shoulder murmured.

Anne chuckled. “I rather think it is you who should wake up, my love. Didn’t you have a full day planned for us today?”

Moments ticked by, before Ann shot up to her knees, making no attempt to cover her modesty from her companion’s loving gaze. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth gaped. “We’re in Scarborough!” She announced, a broad grin breaking across her face.

The older woman raised an eyebrow, reaching out to tap her lover’s nose fondly. “Well deduced.”

“We need to get ready! What time is it? Oh gosh, what shall I wear? I know I planned my blue dress with the-“ she waved a hand around her hips, as she scrambled off the bed and moved to fill the washing bowl from the delicate looking jug on the vanity, “-the ruffle things, for today, but I wonder actually if the green wouldn’t be better. Maybe I should run for Eugenie, while you make a start. I’ll just-“

Anne managed to lunge out of bed, grabbing her wife’s wrist before she could open the door to the sitting room.

“Eugenie will be already waiting, I informed her yesterday to ensure she was in our quarters for 6 sharp. And as much I enjoy this outfit, I do think you should put some drawers on first.”

Ann looked down at her pale body, bare as a newborn, and blushed. “That might be a sound idea.”

“Also, we should probably discuss how we want to approach...things,” Anne said slowly, biting her bottom lip, before continuing, “after last night.”

“Things?”

Anne sat back down on the bed, hands resting on her knees, looking businesslike in spite of the fact that her hair was wild from sleep, and she wore not a stitch of clothing. “Yes. Specifically the other guests, and how we will manage any, shall we say, _unpleasantness_ we might encounter when we venture into the town.”

“Oh. Well, I shall tell you how I’ll approach those things.” Ann said, pulling a pair of drawers from the bureau in the corner of the room, and shuffling ungracefully into them. “I shall ignore it, and if they don’t like it they can just go hang.”

Anne snorted, surprised at her wife’s show of confidence. “Yes, but that might be easier said than done-“

“No, Anne, it won’t. I know you know best but I came here to be with _you_ , not worry over every Tom, Dick and Harriet who cares to make their silly opinions known.” Ann stilled in the process of lacing up her undershirt and pulled a face, wrinkling her nose. “Anyway, I don’t much care what the people in Halifax have to say on the matter, so what a gang of strangers think is neither here nor there. As long as we’re discreet - which we are - it really isn’t any of their business. Now, are you getting ready, then? I really do have _several_ things I would like to do today.”

Shaking her head, Anne rose, her hands held up in a show of retreat, unable to hide the broad smile on her face. “I think I have had rather an influence on you, Miss Walker.” 

“I see you still have a very elevated opinion of yourself, Miss Lister.” The younger woman quipped, before pointing firmly at the large chest of drawers. “Yours are in the second drawer down. I’m going to get Eugenie to see to you first because I take longer.” Ann said, flashing a quick grin before she dashed from the room, leaving her wife to hastily pull on her undergarments.

————————————————————-

They had, in the end, been too late for breakfast, but Mrs Simms had arranged for them to have some cold cuts and left over potatoes sent to the communal drawing room, with a scalding hot pot of tea that Anne wouldn’t let her wife even consider pouring. The other guests appeared to have risen early and vanished so they ate in companionable solitude.

By the time they made their way outside, it was mid-morning, and the streets on the short walk to the prom were lively with other visitors taking in the weak sunshine of early summer, or tradespeople rushing about their business. The sound of hammering from further down the terrace suggested building work was not entirely complete, and Ann promised that they would step over on their return and see the construction first hand.

The younger woman was nearly vibrating with excitement at seeing the front, the blithe chattering carrying them out of Belvoir Terrace and down past the Rotunda museum to the ocean.

At this hour, the tide was still mostly out, leaving a great swathe of inviting looking sand that was already full of walkers and bathing machines. 

“Would you like to walk along the promenade or would you prefer the sand?”

Ann’s face took on a nervous, indecisive air, until after a fair amount of dithering, Anne took pity on her. “Why don’t we walk down the sands as far as the spa, and back up the prom?”

“Yes, lets do that.” Ann said giving a relieved smile at her spouse, and tucking her hand into the crook of a proffered arm.

“I haven’t been here since before my father died.” She confessed as they ambled down the beach. “But myself and Elizabeth, and Catherine when she was older - we used to have so much fun here. I remember once we got away from our governess, Nance, and spent all day building houses and digging holes in the sand with some off the local rough children. Oh, we got a thrashing when we were found, but we all agreed it was worth it.”

“We all need some adventures when we’re young.” Anne agreed, winking roguishly.

“Did you get up to mischief when you were small?” Ann asked, trying to imagine what a little Anne Lister would look like; in her mind’s eye, she pictured a skinny ruffian with grazed knees and a grubby face, escaping any servant unlucky enough to have to try and contain her.

“I had my moments.” Anne confirmed with a chortle.

“Such as?”

“Oh, sneaking off to climb trees and scrump with the local waifs and strays, staying out late and sleeping in hedges. It was rather a shock to the system when we weren’t babies anymore, and my little band of miscreants had to start earning their keep and I was sent away to school.”

“That’s just how I imagined you. A wild little scrap of a girl, bulling the local boys into her gang.”

Anne gasped in mock outrage. “Excuse me, I didn’t have to bull anyone into anything. I presented...options, and they happened to be such jolly good options that the lads chose to make me their esteemed Captain.”

Ann giggled, shaking her head so her blonde ringlets caught the sunlight. “It’s a shame when you get older though, isn’t it? And suddenly you can’t run around with the boys anymore, or even play games with the girls for fear of ruining your frock, and you’re only allowed to talk to people who are just like you. It feels like we lose something of ourselves.”

Sensing a melancholy train of thought, the older woman puffed her chest out, tapping the Walker’s arm affectionately, and announced in a stage whisper, “Well, fortunately for you, you have chosen someone _quite_ unlike anyone else you might meet.”

Their laughter drifted along the seafront, until they stopped abruptly, made dumb in awe at the sight of the Cliff Bridge, proudly standing at least 70 feet off the valley floor.

“It’s beautiful!” Ann gasped.

“It’s magnificent.” Her wife agreed, eyes gleaming. “It’s a miracle of engineering. Come on, let’s see if any fellows up there can tell us about its construction.”

Ann has a moment to sigh in amused exasperation before she was tugged along behind the masculine woman at an incredible pace, all thoughts of a leisurely stroll disappearing like a summer breeze.

—————————————————————-—

“Honestly Ann, have some courage! It’s perfectly safe!”

Ann stood on the first step of the bathing machine, eyeing the silt-grey sea with barely restrained mistrust. A few feet away, lying on her back in the water, her companion beckoned with both hands. 

They’d been nearly an hour at the bridge, discussing the design with the lame toll-booth attendant, a middle-aged and wiry man who had worked on the build of the impressive structure as a foreman before one of the huge iron girders had slipped from a hoist and taken off his right leg. After a stop back at the house for a hasty lunch and to collect their bathing clothes they’d hurried back to the sands, Ann feeling nearly sick with anticipation at the thought of actually getting to swim in the sea. All that excitement had, however, abandoned her the moment the rear doors opened and she found herself staring at the wide open expanse of the cold, uncaring North Sea.

On either side of them, the ladies enjoying the water on the women-only-section of the seafront seemed to have none of her reservations, although few were actually swimming with the ease that her wife was.

“Shouldn’t I be tied on, though?” Ann tried again. They’d had this conversation once already; while most of the women around them were attached to their bathing machines by a long cord around their waist for any safety it might give them, the Lister had insisted that this was quite unnecessary when she herself would be always at her partner’s side.

“You don’t need one, love. Look.” Anne stood up, holding out her arms. The water came barely to thigh level. Liquid cascaded off her strong frame, making the thick linen long johns she had had made for bathing stick saucily to her figure, and making her lover swallow to cover a suddenly dry throat. They had attracted several stares from the swimmers around them, either horrified at the collier’s mannish attire (mannish in spite of the hint of lace sewn into the knees and elbows to add a dash of femininity to the outfit), and a few which seemed much more admiring in nature, to Ann’s equal annoyance and pride.

Ann herself was wearing a purpose made bathing dress, which looked rather like what she’d heard the men who had travelled to India describe as ‘pyjamas’, with kid gloves and a wide-brimmed straw hat to ensure she didn’t catch even a ray of sun on her milky skin. She’d felt quite pretty trying it on in their bedroom at Shibden, parading around for her wife to see, but now she felt it was a wasted purchase - putting even a foot in the water seemed much too daunting. 

Anne watched the flurry of emotion cross the other woman’s face, and sighed. Wading the short distance to the carriage, she placed a cold hand on her mate’s wrist. “Come now, my love. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Promise me?”

Anne slid her hand down to entwine their fingers, giving the faintest of pulls. Ann took one glacial step forward. “I swear it. I will never, ever let anything happen to you while I’m at your side.”

Eyes never leaving the dark brown irises of her lover, Ann took another step, wincing as a small wave dashed cold against her foot. “Because you know, my poor brother died in Naples.”

“I know, sweetling, but you are perfectly safe here, with me.” Ann was up to her knees now, with just a small jump down to the sea floor itself. “I’m going to put my hands on your waist now, love, and lift you the rest of the way.”

Before Ann could think further, Anne had her around the middle and lifted her easily to stand in the water, which due to her more diminutive stature lapped softly around her midriff. The blonde shrieked, trying to press herself into the body in front of her while simultaneously climb _up_ , so that she found herself in a half bear-hug, being held above the surface by firm, familiar hands that grasped her thighs.

Anne couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up inside her chest, the booming, striking guffaw that she rarely allowed to see the light of day.

“It’s not funny!” Ann tried, even as she herself descended into giggling. 

As their laughter tapered away, Anne became keenly aware of their proximity, the damp cloth of their bathing suits feeling thin and licentious in such a public place. It warmed something inside of her, and she allowed her gaze to linger unashamedly on the soft pink lips of the woman clinging to her with a steel-hardened grip.

“I should put you down on your own feet, my love.” She whispered, leaning closer to her wife’s ear. “Before I find myself without a shred of control.” 

In her arms, Ann shivered, before loosening her grip and lowering herself into the water. A ruddy blush covered her cheeks and neck, before disappearing under the cotton of the bathing suit. 

Filing that away for later,, Anne guided them a little deeper. “Do you still want to learn a few swimming strokes?”

Frowning down at the murky water, Ann steeled herself. “I suppose I must if we are to be here all week.”

“Must you?” Anne asked curiously.

“Oh, yes. For my own safety. It can’t be sensible to be this close to such a large body of water and not know how to save myself in the event of a crises.”

Anne’s laughter this time was loud enough that several of the people around them clucked and shushed, but in that moment, neither women could bring themselves to care.

——————————————————————--

It had taken the remainder of the afternoon for Anne to warm her wife up. 

By the time they had changed and she had attracted the attention of the attendant to haul them back to shore with his well-groomed cart horse, the younger woman’s lips had been blue, and by the time they made it back to the house, she was shaking quite uncontrollably, panicking one of the servant girls into running to find Mrs Simms.

The old woman had taken one look at Miss Walker and sent the little girl to start a fire and bring up water for steaming hot cups of rum toddy. 

“You ladies will _insist_ on taking the waters at any time of the year, with _no_ consideration for your humours.” She has scolded in her affected King’s English, before taking her leave, shooing the near hysterical servant girl before her, and promising to send up trays of food rather than have the patient force herself downstairs for supper.

“I did enjoy that, you know. Once I’d gotten the hang of it.” Ann said after an hour, pulling the coarse knitted throw from the spare bedroom tighter around her shoulders. 

“You did very well. You’re practically a natural.” Anne said from where she sat on the floor, tending the fire, picturing again the dainty, proper figure of her beloved managing after only half an hour to half-crawl, half dog-paddle the 10 feet between where she herself floated and the steps of the bathing machine.

“Can we go again tomorrow?” Seeing the older woman beginning to refuse, Ann hurried on. “I mean, for much less of a time, and I’ll know to take some much warmer clothes with me to change into now.”

Already accepting her defeat with a sigh, Anne moved to sit on the sofa, tugging the throw so it wrapped both women in a tight cocoon. “If it would make you happy then of course we shall go, but I really must insist on a time limit tomorrow. I’ll be honestly amazed if you don’t catch a chill after this afternoons little adventure.”

“I won’t.” Ann said with conviction, sipping the now cold rum tea. 

“Mmm.” Was her wife’s only response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mariana’s words (albeit condensed) I’ve taken from Helena Whitbread’s ‘I Know My Own Heart’ - everything else is pure fiction. I’ve also never been to Scarborough, like a total fraud, so any mistakes are purely of my own devising.


	3. Chapter 3

Catherine Worsley, née Rawson, was not as naive as her upbringing and standing as a small town reverend’s wife would suggest. As the oldest of six siblings, and an active member of the Halifax, Huddersfield and, recently, Cambridge gossip circles, there was very little left on God’s earth that could genuinely surprise her. Not even the idea of her favourite cousin and best friend, Ann Walker, falling into love and into bed with local talking-point Anne “Gentleman Jack” Lister, suspected womaniser and known eccentric.

Catherine was also, at the core of it, a good woman. She loved her family, and was loyal to her friends (while being markedly disloyal to any acquaintance unlucky enough to fall foul of the county scandal merchants). And of those friends she was most faithfully protective of, Ann Walker was first and foremost. Which meant that while she had, in the past, both absorbed and recounted tidbits of impropriety whispered about the famous Anne Lister of Shibden Hall, she now saw it as her solemn duty to protect not only Ann’s reputation, but also that of her strange and intriguing companion. 

Catherine and Anne had, early on, forged a queer sort of alliance built almost entirely on their mutual care for Ann. She’d seen the way the masculine woman had cared for and handled her friend’s illness, and while Catherine had understood why she herself was there, obligated by the power of family duty to be holding Ann’s shaking hand through the worst of those terrible nights, it had taken time to see why Anne would stay without the ties of formal connection: love. 

She could remember the moment that it fell into place, one late breakfast after they’d managed to coax their mutual friend into an uneasy sleep. They were both bone-tired, scarcely able to speak, and yet Anne had asked so gently, with such soft determination, that they keep Ann’s illness as discreetly as they could for fear of losing her entirely, that all Catherine could think was: “You love her. You love her as I love her, and you love her as a true husband might.” As a good Christian woman, it should have filled her with horror, as it had Eliza Priestly the morning in Catherine’s grandmother’s parlour, when Eliza had insinuated with vague euphemisms the connection she had witnessed at Crow Nest, behind drawn blinds and closed doors. But it hadn’t, and it didn’t, because she had seen for herself nothing but tender affection and hope, and wasn’t that, at the crux of it, what everyone deserved? 

So she’d told Anne of her shame at listening to the rumours, and her respect for the unconventional friendship struck up between the 41-year-old and Catherine’s own sweet, kind-hearted cousin, and had never regretted doing so for a solitary second since.

“Dearest Catherine!” A booming voice cried, breaking the woman from her reverie. 

Looking away from the window that faced out onto a the green in the middle of The Crescent, Catherine turned towards the open door of the airy communal living room, where Anne Lister was currently standing, arms outspread and a look of uncommon joy on her face.

“Miss Lister!” Catherine smiled fondly, rising and taking a step forward, hands outstretched.

Anne took both in her own and squeezed, tutting. “I see I shall have to insist again, that you _must_ call me Anne. We are surely long passed such formalities.”

Catherine nodded graciously. “Of course. I forget how far we have come in our friendship, now I am in Cambridge and we aren’t thrown together quite so often.”

“Then I shall keep reminding you!” Anne laughed, releasing Catherine’s hands and putting her own on her hips. “Has Mrs Simms been good enough to get you some tea? We weren’t expecting you until at least dinner, or we’d have made arrangements to be here when you arrived.”

“I took an earlier coach, I’m afraid I was in quite a hurry to leave my mother-in-law’s house in Huddersfield, after a full two weeks with just the two of us. Not that we don’t get on, you understand, but she is rather elderly now and struggles to hear.” 

“Of course. And when does the Reverend Worsley arrive?” 

“On Saturday, hopefully before breakfast.” Catherine answered, feeling her heart jump a little at the thought of her husband. They’d been married less than three months, and hadn’t spent a night apart until she had left for Huddersfield 2 weeks earlier. “And where’s Ann?”

“Oh, she had a little sniffle this morning, so we thought it best to take the air. We made it just as far as the tea rooms at the base of Oliver’s Mount and back. She’s changing into something less heavy, now she’s not sneezing and wheezing all over the place.” A look of profound and fond exasperation crossed Anne’s face, although Catherine couldn’t imagine the story behind it.

The pair continued for a moment more, agreeing plans for Catherine to finish her tea and accompany the couple to the fossil museum, located at the bottom of the cliff by the spa. In reality, Catherine had no interest in fossils, or museums in general, but as Miss Lister had offered to cover the 3d entrance fee as an act of enticement, it would have been vulgar to refuse. She watched the other woman disappear at a clip from the room, and was just turning back to her refreshment when another voice interrupted her.

“Are you acquainted with Miss Lister?”

She turned to see a two very delicate and feminine looking women, done up in the most fashionable dress, their hairs a mass of ringlets and ribbons. They were both young, perhaps 20 or so, and both wore an identical look of curiosity.

“I am. Miss Walker, Miss Lister’s companion, is my cousin and rather fond friend.” Catherine smiled, and held out a hand to each in turn, that they softly touched in a ladylike attempt at a handshake. “Mrs Thomas Worsley, of Cambridge, formerly of Halifax.”

“How good of you! I’m Miss Charlotte Watkins, and this is my very dear friend Miss Emily Holdsworth. We are up from Leeds, for the season, should circumstances allow.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance.” Catherine said, pleasantly. “And what is, I must ask, good of me?”

The young women made eye contact with each other, and then stepped forward in unison. “Well, Of course Miss Walker seems a delight. Miss Lister however...she seems such a peculiarity. It must be difficult to be seen as kin to such a curious...masculine...creature. Poor Miss Walker must be beside herself with the tattle being spoken about them.”

Catherine frowned, and stepped closer, leaning conspiratorially in. “What form does this...tattle...take?”

“Well...” Miss Holdsworth said, her face crumpling into a nasty smirk.

———————————————————————-

The museum was small, but well stocked, and Anne was having the time of her life, ambling among the glass cases and reading every scrap of carefully written paper pinned below each item, most of which looked, to Ann’s unscientific eye, like rocks. The older woman had quickly picked up an entourage in the form of an elderly man with a stoop and a mess of receding hair, and a young woman in a well made but much-repaired dress, who Ann assumed to be the man’s daughter. They were gleefully recounting the history and origin of each fossil, and offering tidbits of information on the luckless species and plants that had produced them. Ann would have been slightly worried about the amount of attention the young woman was bestowing on her wife if both women hadn’t been considerably more excited about a lump of sandstone that was, apparently, much more remarkable than every other bit of sandstone in the building, than they were about each other.

Ann was having her own fun pottering around with her arm linked firmly with her cousin’s, pointing out pretty patterns in the fossils and gently poking fun at Anne and her new friends from afar. 

They were looking at a particularly unusual set of Gastropods when she heard Catherine clear her throat.

“Ann...”

Looking up, Ann felt her stomach drop slightly. Her friend’s face was pale, and she looked worried. “What is it?”

The woman hesitated, glancing to the other side of the room to where Anne was inspecting something under a large magnifying glass.

“Catherine, What is it?” Ann asked again, concern in her voice.

“While I was waiting for you, this afternoon, I met some of the ladies staying in the guest house.”

“Oh?” Ann asked, struggling to see where this was going.

“They were talking to me about...well...about Anne. And yourself. But mostly Anne.”

 _Ah_ , thought Ann, trying hard not to roll her eyes, _here we go_.

“They were rather blunt in their assessment of Miss Lister’s personage, and how she has been seen since you arrived. They may have used the words...’cast out’?”

Ann really did roll her eyes at that, turning to walk down the aisle towards a table that held common and damaged specimens. Catherine trailed along after her.

“Well, is it true?” She asked in an inpatient voice, casting her gaze over the nearly empty room to check that they wouldn’t be over-heard.

“It’s over-dramatic, I’ll give them that.” Ann sighed, turning to face the nervous face of her best friend. “Some of the guests have been a little wary, and none too shy or too vulgar to show it, but we have met some good company in the days since we arrived. A Mr and Mrs Lucas of Birmingham first and foremost have been very keen to dine with us each evening, and even engaged us to take tea at the Mere tearooms this morning, which was very pleasant. And Mrs Simms has been very kind. But it’s only a small lodging, and we haven’t had chance to attend one of the assemblies at the Long Room yet to broaden our circle.”

“Oh, Ann.” Catherine sighed, looking terribly upset. “Doesn’t It worry you, though? It would worry me.”

Ann scowled, mildly offended. “Of course it doesn’t. Anne is my-my friend. My companion. I don’t much care what idle tittle-tattles have to say about her or me. It’s ill mannered and unchristian, and I for one won't stand for it. You shouldn’t either, if we’re friends.”

Catherine blinked, shocked. She’d seen glimpses before of the strong will that the heiress hid behind her prescribed delicacy and weakness, behind what her family called her invalidity, but it still surprised her to be on the receiving end after years of Ann’s placid shyness. 

“We _are_ friends, Ann. And of course I corrected any assumptions they had made. I just worry about you getting dragged through the mire when-“

“No, that’s enough.” Ann said firmly, hands on hips. “We’re two respectable ladies, who are friends. Good friends. If people want to stew about that and slander it, then good luck to them, but I won’t sully myself to hear it.”

Catherine blinked, and very slowly reached out to place a hand on her cousin’s arm. The blonde was still glowering, and a faint red blush was showing under the pink of her shawl, travelling up her neck. “You’re right. You shouldn’t concern yourself with the ugliness of others, and I won’t repeat it.”

Ann nodded, still frowning, but visibly unclenching her muscles and sinking back into her diminutive frame.

“What-ho! Miss Perkins has given me more pamphlets than I shall ever have time to read.” Anne said, approaching at a gallop and happily waving a stack of white booklets in her black-gloved hand. She slowed as she neared, eyes darting between the two younger women. “Everything alright?”

Ann nodded, once, sharply, a frown still plastered on her pretty face, while Catherine tried for a weak smile. 

“Ah.” Anne said, wondering if they’d been at the museum long enough to dampen both women’s spirits. She could, she would admit, get rather carried away. “I think I saw a stall selling sugared ices on the front - that might lift our spirits slightly.”

————————————————————————

The succeeding days rolled along in a veritable blur, each, for Anne, a quiet joy.

Finally reassured that there would be no repeat of the scenes of yesteryear, she’d thrown herself into ensuring that the trip was as pleasant as it could possibly for both of them. They strolled to the top of Oliver’s Mount and to the castle, bringing with them a luckless Thomas to cart folding chairs and painting supplies so that Ann and Catherine could sketch the views to their hearts content, while Anne marched to and fro with one of the small leaflets on botany that she’d been given at the fossil museum. She took Ann sea swimming again, splashing and paddling about until the shivers would set in, then warming themselves in the privacy of their bathing carriage as only people in love could. Their evenings were spent quietly, playing cards and backgammon with Catherine and, once he rolled into Scarborough looking dusty and thoroughly journey-worn, the Reverend Thomas Worsley, an older-looking man of thirty with a fierce intellect and a wit that caught even Anne off-guard. Sometimes they would be joined by the Lucases, and on one memorable night had the pleasure of hearing Mrs Lucas singing along to the elderly fortepiano that sat behind a fine-painted silk screen in the corner of the room, her sweet contralto voice staying with all who heard it long after they retired. Their nights were long, and luxurious, spent locked in their rooms and wound up in each other, while the sighing of the sea outside did little to drown out the sighing and moaning and whispering promises inside.

She’d found that, bolstered by Ann’s confidence, she fell very easily into her old habit of tuning out the casual nastiness and simmering stares that followed her about from the other guests and people on the street. Wandering down the sands with her wife on her arm, listening to Catherine and Thomas bantering lovingly back and forth, it didn’t register.

Nevertheless, it came as a surprise how sad she felt to be leaving, as Monday rolled around. Ann and Catherine had a desire to attend one of the balls at Donner’s assembly rooms, the grand white-plaster building on the aptly named Long Room Street that served as the heart of the town’s social scene, and while none of the party were subscribing members, Mr Lucas graciously arranged tickets for Ann, Catherine, and the reverend. Anne herself was less enthusiastic, and after a small skirmish had managed to convince her wife that she should go alone, leaving the older woman to supervise packing and arranging of their bags and trunks, ready to leave the next morning. 

She’d waved the gay quintet off from the front steps of the lodging, watching them skip and giggle down the terrace, smiling to herself to see her lover looking so well put together. The young Walker was dressed head to toe in goldish-cream silk, with a wide neckline that hung low around her biceps and revealed the creamy skin of her neck and shoulders, that Anne had been unable to resist pressing her lips to as she, personally, helped her wife lace into the gown. Her hair was solely Eugenie’s handiwork however, a miraculous creation that stood a good foot from her head in two plaited blonde loops, with a garland of small wild flowers hiding the shoring. 

True to her word, Anne spent the next hour supervising the packing of their belongings, much to Eugenie’s poorly hidden displeasure, and then dismissed the girl to go and enjoy her last night by the sea, although, Anne had chided, only half joking, not to enjoy it _too_ much.

As the door closed, Anne breathed a trembling sigh, caught off guard by how empty and lonely the rooms felt without her wife’s presence. She was quickly losing the knack of being alone, and it started something uneasy brewing in her guts. Feeling uncharacteristically unbalanced, she drifted into the bedroom, where Eugenie had left her mistresses’ night things laid out, all else but their travelling clothes stowed in the trunks stacked by the main door, ready for Thomas to load into the coach at dawn. Unthinkingly, Anne found her hands caressing the cotton of her lover’s nightgown, worn soft through age and overuse. Feeling almost guilty, she picked the garment up, brushing it to her lips, and, closing her eyes, she breathed in the scent of sweat and skin that was, by now, as familiar to her as her own. As her eyes slowly opened, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the vanity and balked, throwing the chemise back onto the bed.

“What have you done with me?” The brunette huffed crossly as she stormed out of the room. At the threshold, however, her stride faltered. She stared back at the crumpled gown, lying forlornly on Ann’s side of the bed, then walked calmly across the room, laid it out properly once more, and left, closing the door with a loud ‘click’.

Finding nothing else to do, and only a having spent a little over an hour since she’d watched her friends head out, Anne took out her journal, and draped herself comfortably across the sofa, ready to write.

———————————————————————-

It was the sound of someone tripping over the luggage by the door that woke her up. Starting, Anne jumped to her feet, not heeding the clatter of her diary or the tinkle as the steel-tipped pen, brought as a set from Mr Mitchell of Newhall Street, Birmingham, hit the floor and rolled away under the letter desk.

Scrambling in the pitch darkness, Anne located her walking stick, brandishing it like a club, hoping to get one good swing in and make a run for it. In a loud and firm voice, she said, “Who goes there?”

There was a pause, and a small voice answered, “Anne?”

Lowering the cane, Anne scrabbled about on the mantlepiece for the oil lamp and matches, and with a hiss and a flare, the room was filled with a weak, warm light.

Ann stood by the door, clutching her small silken reticule and blinking in the light.

“Good lord, you’re back early. What happened?” The older woman asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Early? Anne, its gone 2 in the morning!” 

Anne blinked, surprised, and took out her pocket watch. 2:17. “Well, then.”

Ann smiled, and crossed the room, flinging her bag down on the settee on the way, and wrapped her arms around her wife’s neck. “Did you miss me?”

Without missing a beat, Anne responded, “Not a jot.”, and placed a dawdling kiss to the other woman’s brow. “Did you, me?”

The younger woman nodded sleepily, and leant forward to rest her head on her spouse’s sternum. “Every moment I was gone.”

They stood for a moment in comfortable silence, before the blonde gave a cat-like yawn. 

“We should get you to bed, my love, you look worn out.”

“Will you come too?” Ann asked, looking anxious.

“I think we can manage that.” Anne said, already moving to guide her lover to their bedroom.

It took fifteen minutes to get both Ann and herself changed, their hair plaited, and into bed. The younger woman had seemed so dog tired that Anne had practically dressed her, lovingly slipping on the nightgown and running her fingers through blonde locks to finger-comb out any tangles. 

It wasn’t until she’d douted the lamp and pulled her wife to lie ensconced in her arms that Ann spoke again.

“I did miss you, you know. I danced four quadrilles, and would have danced more but every time I felt so horribly sad that it wasn’t you twirling me around.”

Anne tensed, feeling the familiar curl of mild jealousy in her belly. “I hope you stood on their toes.”

Ann giggled. “You know better than anyone that I did. I have two left feet.”

Placing a kiss to the spot just above Ann’s ear which always made the woman shiver, Anne whispered, “I should have gone with you. Given them something else to talk about.”

Ann, as predicted, shuddered in her arms. Encouraged, the collier moved lower, to kiss the long tendon that ran down her wife’s perfectly slender neck.

“I love you, Anne.” The woman sighed, feeling strong hands moving down her body, bunching up the material of her shift. “Only you. You know I always have.” 

A gentle nip on the flesh of her shoulder made her twitch. Anne grinned roguishly against the reddening flesh. “Tell me.”

“I love you. I wished so much it was you dancing with me tonight. I only want to be in your arms.”

“Only mine?” Anne demanded, her fingers digging lustily into the skin of her lover’s inner thigh.

“Only yours, my darling, only yours. I’ve always been yours.”

Anne pressed her face into her wife’s chest, hiding her emotion in the soft flesh and warm cotton she found there. A thousand words bubbled up in her chest, fighting to get out. But it wasn’t the time, and it wasn’t the place; instead, she moved her hand slightly upwards, and changed all the sacred, romantic, terrifying words begging to be spilled into actions.

————————————————————

The carriage was silent, the only noise the creaking and clanking of the wheels as they jarred over ruts sun-hardened into the road.

Anne Lister watched from her seat as her companion dozed, snoring softly, and wondered if she was dreaming of ice cold waters and warm sands and loving embraces. In front of them lay York and Dr Belcombe, then Halifax and Shibden and the seemingly endless round of home improvements and business ventures and social obligations. Closing her eyes, Anne recalled a time where she had left Scarborough as an inmate might leave a prison colony - glad to be free, but unsure how the scars left behind would ever fade.

Outside, the clouds moved across the sky and dappled the moors with light and darkness; the birds chirped in the sky; Eugenie and Thomas bickered benignly with each other. And inside the carriage, Ann Walker, formerly of Crow Nest and now of Shibden Hall, slept on, unaware of her wife’s protective, grateful gaze, that stayed on her until the sounds of city began to trickle through the quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading and your kind comments and Kudos’s. This has been a lot of happiness to write.


End file.
